


by the way, i think of kissing you every day

by jbird181



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cuddling, Fizzy Apple Juice, Fluff, Kissing, Living Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Minimal Plot Just Fluff, New Year's Eve, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbird181/pseuds/jbird181
Summary: “It’s not your turn,” George complains, face unreadable.Dream makes a frustrated sound. “Ask me then.”“Okay.” George turns on his side, facing the tv. It’s impossible for Dream to see his face from this angle. His shoulder digs into Dream’s thigh, but Dream barely feels it, distracted by his racing heart. “Truth or dare?”“Truth,” Dream says, too loud. He takes a steadying breath before letting the words spill out of him. “I want to kiss you right now,” Dream admits. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while. I love you.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 250
Collections: you've read this fucker :]





	by the way, i think of kissing you every day

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [camouflage by the Front Bottoms](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NviY9PTfKxk). 
> 
> A short, fluffy one shot that came to me when I should have been working on one of my other fics that are almost done. This really is pure, unadulterated fluff, so read at your own risk lol. I hope you enjoy!

“Truth or dare?” Dream asks. George hums thoughtfully from his spot stretched out on the couch. Somewhere during the course of the evening he ended up with his head in Dream’s lap, and Dream has been sitting as still as possible since then in fear of causing him to move away. He’s been holding in his piss for what feels like an hour. They’ve been roommates for a few months now, but despite knowing George for years, Dream has yet to figure out the rhyme or reason as to why some days George is all over him, while other days he treats physical affection like the dead chipmunk Patches tried to bring them as a present. The light from the New Year’s Eve special flickers over George’s face as another celebrity starts singing. They turned the volume down after it officially became New Year’s Day in their time zone, but the special is still going as it ticks closer and closer to the ball dropping in central time. 

George licks his lips. “Truth.” Dream can’t quite remember what compelled them to play Truth or Dare, but he tries to think of a good question to ask him. Before he can come up with anything, George says nonchalantly, “I’m gay.” 

Dream’s brain grinds to a halt. “Oh,” he says, voice sounding odd to his own ears, like he’s on a plane and waiting for his ears to pop. “Really?” 

George frowns up at him, shifting in Dream’s lap. Dream feels like a deer in headlights staring down at him, throat dry. “Really. I thought you should know.” 

Dream doesn’t know what to do. “I’m not,” he says. 

George rolls his eyes. “Did I ask?” 

“Well, I’m not straight either,” Dream clarifies. He wants to explain further, but his brain feels like cotton candy, sticky sweet strands all tangled around each other, impossible to pick apart. He’s never been drunk, and all they’ve had tonight is some sparkling apple cider, which George kept calling ‘fizzy apple juice.’ He'd deemed it just as good if not better than the regular variety of apple juice. Dream thinks this must be what being drunk feels like though, like sitting on the bottom of a pool, chlorine stinging your eyes as you open them to stare up at the rippling surface. “I…” Dream tries, but George cuts him off. 

“It’s not your turn,” George complains, face unreadable. 

Dream makes a frustrated sound. “Ask me then.” 

“Okay.” George turns on his side, facing the tv. It’s impossible for Dream to see his face from this angle. His shoulder digs into Dream’s thigh, but Dream barely feels it, distracted by his racing heart. “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” Dream says, too loud. He takes a steadying breath before letting the words spill out of him. “I want to kiss you right now,” Dream admits. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while. I love you.” 

For a moment, George is silent. His voice is strained when he finally says, “Say that again. The last part.” 

“I love you,” Dream repeats immediately. “I love you, George.” 

George sits up. Dream’s thighs feel cold where George's head used to be. George’s hair is smushed flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He’s the most beautiful person Dream has ever seen. “Do you mean it?” he asks. 

“Yes, yes,” is all Dream can say, over and over like a prayer. His hands flutter around George’s face, unsure if he’s allowed to touch. “Of course I do.” 

George surges forward and kisses him, halfway in his lap, his body pressed up against Dream’s, warm and insistent and here. One of his hands finds its way into Dream’s hair, gripping tightly, the other on his waist, his lips soft against Dream’s own. He tastes like apple juice. Dream cups George’s face in his hands as he kisses him back desperately, letting his hands slide around to hook behind George’s neck in an attempt to pull him closer. His close-cropped hair slips between his fingers, too short to hold onto, so Dream grasps at George’s t-shirt instead. He feels like he’s floating, like no matter what he does, the laws of density make it impossible for him to stay sitting on the bottom of the pool for long, so he just floats up through the water. They pull apart, and Dream sucks in a breath, breaking through the surface. George’s face is beautifully flushed in front of him, soft and open and begging to be kissed, so Dream kisses him again until self-preservation kicks in, the need for air overpowering his desire to keep kissing George. Dream sags back against the couch, cushions taking his weight as he pants slightly. George runs a thumb across Dream’s cheekbone, and he leans into the touch. 

“You love me,” George muses. He takes his time with the words, slow and deliberate, like he’s staring at the scattered parts that make up a piece of Ikea furniture and trying to figure out how they all fit together to look like the thing in the blueprint. They bought a lot of Ikea furniture when they first moved in, tables and chairs and bed frames. George kept getting frustrated and abandoning the pieces in piles on the floor, only to come back to missing screws after Patches batted them around. It’s a miracle they have any furniture in this place at all. George is looking at him like he wants to understand though, like he’s determined to put the pieces together. 

“Yeah,” Dream says. “I love you,” he adds for good measure. He likes saying it, as much as he probably sounds like a broken record. He likes the way the words feel in his mouth, like hot chocolate, warm and velvety, heating him up from the inside. He likes the way the corners of George’s mouth quirk up ever-so-slightly every time he says it, like he’s trying to suppress his smile but can’t help it. 

“Huh,” George breathes. 

“Come on, George, it’s not that hard to understand,” Dream huffs, his traitorous pink cheeks taking any bite out of his statement. He presses his palms to his face in an attempt to cool them down, closing his eyes for a brief respite from George’s penetrating gaze. “You’re amazing,” he adds softly. 

George tugs his hands away from his face and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. Dream goes cross-eyed watching him. “Say something,” Dream half-begs. “Please.” 

George shakes himself shortly like a wet dog. “Sorry,” he starts, and Dream’s stomach drops like the New Year’s ball. His expression must change, because George’s eyes widen, and he reaches for Dream again, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck. “I just don’t know what to say. I never expected…I love you too, Dream. That’s all. I love you too, you idiot.” 

“Oh,” Dream breathes, a smile breaking across his face like the dawn, bright and inevitable. He tilts his face up for a kiss. 

George laughs. “See, it’s hard! What are you supposed to say to that?” 

“Kiss me,” Dream suggests, and George does, tugging him in with the steady hand still on the back of his neck. Dream’s never had to lean up for a kiss before, and it’s almost exhilarating. He finds himself melting into George’s touch as they find a rhythm together, moving in tandem as they kiss and kiss until his lips almost feel sore. George sighs when they pull apart again, still snugly in Dream’s lap. “Some people also say ‘I love you too,’” Dream offers. 

George’s face scrunches up in confusion as he tries to place the context. “What? If this is what it’s going to be like as your boyfriend, I take it all back,” he teases. 

“My boyfriend?” Dream repeats hopefully. 

George brushes a lock of Dream’s hair out of his eyes. “Sure.” 

Dream hugs him tightly. “Aww, you’re such a romantic,” he coos. 

George laughs, squirming in his firm grip. “I hate you so much.” 

Dream kisses his cheek. “Uh huh, that’s not what you were saying earlier.” 

“Oh my god,” George sighs, resting his head on Dream’s shoulder. “You’re the worst, remind me why I’m dating you?” 

The casual acknowledgement sends a thrill through Dream, and he bites his lip to keep from shouting it from the rooftops and waking the neighbors. “Because you love me,” Dream says simply. 

He feels George smile against his neck. “Yeah, I do.” 

Faintly, Dream hears a countdown beginning anew on the TV, 10, 9, 8. As they watch, it hits midnight in central time, and another ball drops in New Orleans. 

“Happy New Year,” George laughs.

Dream kisses him again, just because he can, cheeks sore from smiling. “Happy New Year.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please comment and let me know what you thought. :)


End file.
